


He's Mine

by rachelarcher



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10174184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelarcher/pseuds/rachelarcher
Summary: I feel like there are not enough "John Winchester is a good dad" stories out there.





	

John Winchester knew he was in trouble when his oldest turned thirteen, he had been a single father since his youngest, Sammy, was about six months old. His wife had died in a car wreck, driving home from the local elementary school she worked at. Both Dean and Carter had been in the car, fast asleep. They were unscratched as if an angel had literally been watching over them. Dean was loud, impulsive, and every bit his father’s son. Where Dean was John made over, Carter was calm and collected. Her mind determined to protect the men she loved, and a wildfire seemed to dance in her eyes. His youngest, Sammy, was every bit his mother’s son. If anyone inherited Mary’s heart, it was little bitty Sammy. 

“Daddy!” Carter looked every bit of her mother, long blonde hair, and tanned skin, a splay of freckles that seemed to inch more towards her nose and shoulders every day. Bright blue eyes, and already every boy in town had taken an interest in walkin’ her to church. John had been attempting to watch television, for the first time in a month of Sunday’s when his little girl’s voice rocked him to his core.

“Shit, Carter, what the hell is it?” John roared back, jumping from his seat and lunging down the hallway. He should have known when he heard her snicker that something wasn’t right. When John reached the doorway, he raked his eyes from his daughter, who was giggling, to Mr. Coleman, who had Dean by the scruff of his neck. Some of Dean’s friends looking just as guilty as his oldest, behind them.

“I caught ‘uhm back in the holler, shootin’ beer bottles ‘nd smokin’.” Mr. Coleman growled out. His bib overalls stretching over his beer gut, the old worn hat on his head stretched backwards. 

“Is that right?” John scratched at the back of his neck, by that time, Sam had tumbled down the stairs, the nine year old in hand me downs, with his sleeves unbuttoned, and his hair a wild mess. 

Mr. Coleman gave John a dubious look as Sam came to rest at his older sister’s elbow. He spat his tobacco out, and nodded. “They won't speak when spoken to, so which one here belongs to you.” He paused offered the group of four a hard look, “And I know one does 'cause they all started runnin' to your back forty when they saw me comin' on my gator.” 

John frowned. “He’s mine.” He pointed sharply at Dean. “Dean Winchester. Benny, Gabriel, Richard, ya’ll get on in the house.” Mr. Coleman snorted, as he watched the boys shuffle into the house. “If they caused any damage, Mr. Coleman, I’ll pay for it.” John started. “Sorry about Dean, he’s got a wild-haired side, and then some, it’s no surprise what he’s done, he’s ever last bit of my old man’s son.... And if ya knew me, when I was his age, there’d be no question as ta who he belonged ta.” John eyed the old man.

“Knew yer wife’s pa, Samuel Campbell.” Mr. Coleman started, “Mary was a mess, growin’ up.” Mr. Coleman chuckled. “Ain’t no harm no foul, just don’t want uhm smokin’.” 

With that Carter burst into laughter, Mr. Coleman left, and Sam eyed his father. John whirled on his oldest son, and eyed him and his friends. “Keep it on my forty, and don’t let ‘im catch ya again.” With that he thumped Dean on the back of the head, and strode away.

-/-

John Winchester never expected easy with his children. Dean was brilliant but couldn’t seem to keep his grades up. Carter excelled in everything she tried, except making friends with girls. Sam was so smart he skipped a grade, but was still all knees and elbows. When Castiel Novak walked home from school with Dean on a Thursday, he knew he was in for trouble.

For one, it was more that Dean and Carter had Castiel Novak supported between them, and the pale little boy, who was the younger cousin of Dean’s longtime best friend Gabriel, looked like he had went ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. Both Dean and Carter had blood on their face, and Sam even looked rumpled.

“What the hell happened?” John asked his youngest, who barreled in the door, demanding a first aid kit.

“Some fucking idiot at school apparently doesn’t like gay kids.” Carter snarled, as they dumped the boy on their couch.

“And let me guess, you two took offense to that.” John sighed. The best kept secret in all of West Plains, was the fact that Dean was gay, and his twin sister was bisexual. John was pretty sure god had personally given him a bullshit mission in life when it came to raising the three oddballs, but he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

“Of course, Cas is the kicker.” Dean growled, as if that explained everything.

“Uhuh.” John handed his medically inclined daughter the first aid kit.

“The kids from Loudon's football team were trying to rile us up.” Dean explained. “They saw Cas, took one look at his outfit, and well…”

John eyed the boy, nice slacks, a white shirt now tainted red with blood, and a tan trench coat on his shoulders. He certainly didn’t look like a teenager. “And Cas is gay?” 

“Mhm.” Sam muttered, rubbing his own quickly bruising cheek.

“So ya’ll got in a fight?” John doubted this would be the end of it. One look at the way Dean took care of Cas, going as far as to push Carter out of the way, the gentle swipes of Dean’s hand against Cas’s forehead. “Well, that’s my boys and girl.” He offered a soft smile and headed towards the kitchen.

-/-

John should have known the game that Friday night was not going to be clean. Sam sat in the seat next to him and shouted almost as loud as he did when an unfair hit once again knocked Castiel Novak, number 47 to the ground. 

By a third hit, Dean had lost his patience, jerking his own helmet off and marching up the field. He grabbed the much larger boy by the front of his uniform and hit him square in the jaw with his helmet. Next to John Sam whispered, “That's the punk who busted Cas up last time.” 

John felt himself nod, as Dean took one last swing at number 20 of the opposing team, then grabbed Cas off the ground. A steady quiet took over, as Dean slammed his lips onto Cas’s. John could hear Sam next to him, and Carter with the other cheerleaders, but he had no doubt he was screaming the loudest. “He’s mine! That one! Got a wild-haired side and then some, it’s no surprise what he’s done! He is every last bit of my old man’s son!” 

Everyone watched somewhere between elated and irritated as the two were walked off the field, ejected from the game.

-/-

Even now, when John Winchester talks about his kids, he can’t help but say, “He’s mine, that one, he’s me made over. Wouldn’t change ‘im or his husband for the world.” As he looks out the window across his sprawling farm to the newer farm house. 

Across the way, towards the back of the fields, Carter and Gabriel have a spread. When John Winchester looks out the back door, and sees the yard full of kids he chuckles to himself, and if ya happen to be around he’ll say, “She’s mine, that one, she’s a strange mixture of me and her ma, and I haven't the damndest clue how she and her husband make things work, but she’s the apple of my eye.”

It’s when he gets a sad look, a far away look in his eyes that John Winchester gazes down the road, a new house is being built, around the shadow of a house destroyed by flames. The original house had been old man Coleman’s. The new house, it belongs to Sam Winchester, and his wife, Jo. “He’s mine.” John says low and proud, “But he is his mother made over, ain’t a piece of me in’im that shines through like with my oldest two.”

John Winchester cocks his head to the side, and waits for the day when their new neighbor - someone named Chuck Shurley - comes to knock on his door, with a scruffy headed kid, in hand, to ask who in the hell he belongs to, because as he looks out across the three fields a smile dawns on his face. He’ll have plenty of grandchildren to claim. Maybe even some granddogs.


End file.
